


6/01/2019: Favourite Person

by pop_incognito



Series: 365 Drabbles [6]
Category: Free!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, Language of Flowers, M/M, Oblivious Nanase Haruka
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 11:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17323967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pop_incognito/pseuds/pop_incognito
Summary: Haruka never thought he would come to fear the sight of flowers.





	6/01/2019: Favourite Person

**Author's Note:**

> So this took a strange turn from my original plan for this prompt. Sorry about that. In the language of flowers, peonies mean 'I have always loved you', which I thought was appropriate for Makoto's feelings for Haruka. Hope y'all enjoy!

A hand is waiting above the surface of the water, as it always is. Haruka grabs it without hesitation, ready to playfully scold Makoto for calling him Haru-chan, even in their second year of university. As his own hand breaks through the water, fingers closing around a warm palm, Haruka suddenly thinks that Makoto is here awfully early to pull Haruka from the water and thrust him into the rest of the day.

“You’re not Makoto,” Haruka says bluntly once his head has broken the surface, and he drops Asahi’s hand like he has been burned. “What are you doing here?” he asks his teammate, a little suspicious and wary. “Where’s Makoto?”

Asahi chokes, and Haruka reels back in the water when he finally notices that Asahi is _crying_. “You have to come with me,” he manages to get out around the small hitching sobs trying to drag themselves out of his mouth. “Right now, Haruka. You have to come and see Makoto.” He reaches for Haruka’s hand again and starts pulling him towards the edge of the pool again. “Come on, right now!”

“I don’t understand,” Haruka says, tries not to let panic creep into his head. “Where is Makoto, Asahi?” He wipes the water out of his eyes and stares at his friend. Asahi’s tanned skin is ashy, his clothes damp. Tiny blue petals are clinging to folds of his shirt and sticking to his arms. “What are…” Haruka gulps, his heart thudding against his ribs. “Asahi, what are those?”

“You know what they are,” Asahi says, voice thick, more tears dripping off his chin. “You have to know what they are.” His chest is heaving, and Haruka doesn’t know what to do. Makoto is the one who knows how to handle other people’s emotions, not Haruka. Makoto is the one who knows what to say, what to do, how to make someone feel better. Haruka can barely even comprehend the meaning of the flower petals.

Surely, they can’t be _that_. Not from Makoto. _Please_ , Haruka finds himself pleading as he lets Asahi drag him from the pool building, forgetting all his belonging in the changerooms. _Please, don’t take Makoto away from me!_

Haruka blinks, and suddenly he is standing in the café. He doesn’t remember the car ride, or why he’s only in his jammers inside the empty café, all he has room in his head for is Makoto. Makoto, who is curled up under a booth table, Kisumi beside him, stroking Makoto’s hair off his flushed face. Dripping wet peonies coat the floor, the top of the table, and Kisumi’s lap; bright blue splashes of violent colour in the red-toned café, and Haruka’s blood runs cold at the sight of them. As if sensing Haruka’s presence, Makoto tilts his head up, bloodshot eyes landing on Haruka from the shadow of the table.

“No…” he croaks, and water leaks out of his mouth, petals dribbling down his chin and across his cheek onto Kisumi’s calf. “No, I told you not to get him.”

“Makoto,” Haruka breathes, taking an unsteady step forward. “No… how?” He crashes to his knees beside Kisumi, reaching out for Makoto. “Who?” Makoto cringes away from Haruka’s touch, and his body convulses, wet, hacking coughs ripping through his chest. “Makoto!” Haruka cries, and Kisumi pushes him back a foot as Makoto heaves up peonies and fresh water in a horrible, horrible waterfall, the flowers pouring from between cracked lips until blood is flecking the water. “Makoto!”

Kisumi’s hand is soft on Haruka’s shoulder. “Haru-” he starts, and Haruka rounds on him.

“What happened?!”

“I don’t know,” Kisumi squeaks, drawling back slightly. “We were having breakfast together, and Asahi and I were telling Makoto about the date we went on last night, and the flowers just… started coming. And then they wouldn’t stop.”

Makoto is crying through his retching, words bubbling out through the thick blooms. “I told you not to bring him here,” he sobs weakly. “He doesn’t need to see this – _I_ don’t want him to see this!”

Haruka is at a loss to what hurts more – Makoto’s harsh words, Makoto _not wanting Haruka_ , or the fact that Haruka is watching his favourite person in the world be slowly consumed by the disease of unrequited love. “Makoto, please,” he begs, pushing Kisumi away and diving for Makoto. “Please, tell me who it is, I can find them for you – they can make you better!” Hot tears splash over his cheeks. “How long have you been suffering like this?!”

A cold, soaked hand cups Haruka’s face, the sickly floral scent clinging to Makoto’s skin. “Since the day we swam together in middle school,” Makoto chokes, the peonies starting to take root in his throat now, constricting his airway. “I didn’t want you to worry about me.” He trails his other hand through the flowers, weakly clasping a pristine bloom in his shaking fingers. “Aren’t they beautiful?” Makoto asks, and a smile graces his pained face. “The colour of your eyes…”

And Haruka finally understands, cold, hard realisation punching him in the gut. He is such an idiot. A cruel, oblivious, self-absorbed idiot. For almost a decade, he has been putting his best friend through unbelievable pain because Haruka couldn’t see what was right in front of his nose. “I’m sorry,” he says, curls over Makoto and clutches Makoto’s larger body to his chest as hard as he can. “I’m sorry I didn’t see! I’m sorry I never…” Haruka has to pause for breath, wipes more flowers off Makoto’s lips. “I’m sorry I’ve never told you how much you mean to me. How much I love you.”

Makoto’s eyes widen as the final flower blossoms on the back of his tongue. He can feel the petals sealing his throat.

And then it dies, blackened petals shrivelling, air flowing in. All around them, the peonies start to die, and Makoto can breathe properly for the first time in years. “You do?” he whispers, and Haruka nods, almost violently.

“I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> And there we go! This got weird in the middle, but hopefully it wasn't too bad. Please comment and leave kudos, they keep me going!


End file.
